"Here he is, waterman," exclaimed the benevolent carpenter. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. There’s hardly a night she doesn’t sneak out of the house. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. When things are at the worst, they'll mend.
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